by Fiona Faris
“Then ye ken what to do.”
“Aye, me Laird.” Findlay hurried forward. “We must order the men to their places.” He scrambled towards the stone well in the middle of the field and urged Gavin to climb on top, putting himself at a height far beyond the others. Findlay took the horn from his belt and tossed it to Gavin, urging him to hurry.
With one sharp blow of the horn, Gavin called the attention of his men. Those sparring for sport came to a stop with a clatter of swords, arrows thudding into practice targets, and heads emerging from the flaps of tents. As silence reigned, each soldier turned to Gavin - his arms holding them at peace.
As heir to the Lairdship, Gavin held command over his soldiers.
“Soldiers, the time has come. The Norse are sailin’ to us. They intend to pillage and loot the town; kidnap our women and children too. Can we let the demons beat us again?” To his rallying cry, there was a great holler of ‘Nay!’
“Do we intend to sit here and defend the castle, leavin’ our people unprotected?” Once more, his booming voice was greeted with a chorus of ‘Nay!’ “Then stand together, me brothers. Hold up yer swords, yer arrows, and yer shields. Today, we meet our enemy at the docks, and we stop them before they have a chance to step foot in our Highlands. What say ye?”
“Aye!” Another great shout erupted from the crowd, along with a clatter of spears on shields.
“Then follow yer Captain.” He pointed down at Findlay at his side, tightening his belt and setting his sheath to his sword and preparing for battle. “Ye ken the plan. We ken the way these demons work, and we will use that against them. Aye?”
“Aye!”
“Then raise yer swords with me now. Raise them to the sky.” He waited for a minute as his dark green eyes flicked across the faces of the men. All raised a sword - each blade pointed to the grey clouds above. “We do this for our Clan. For our Laird. And for every Man!”
A huge cheer rose with a thud of swords hitting the earth. The hollers did not stop as the men hurried to prepare for battle.
Gavin leapt down from the well and grasped Findlay’s hand.
“Good luck, me friend.”
“And ye. I shall see ye at the dock.”
“Aye, I must first go to me faither, and to Tadhg.”
“For every Man,” Findlay repeated the cry and thumped Gavin’s back, hurrying him away.
Gavin sprinted back up the cliff towards the castle, his muscles burning with each thud against the ground with his boots. He had never known such excitement, nor such determination.
Aye, this time, the Scots will win. He repeated this thought as he tore open the door of the castle.
“Faither?” Gavin was aware his interruption was an unwelcome one. His father, Fergus, Laird of Clan Comyn, was at a game with his half-brother Tadhg. It was a strategy game played with a board of checkered colors, green and white, with a myriad of differently shaped pieces. Gavin did not care for it and had never taken the time to learn the rules.
“Aye, wait one second, laddie, I am about to beat yer brother in our game. Let us finish before ye tear the door of me chamber off with yer anger.” The Laird moved a piece across the board and cheered with delight. “Ha! That means three to me.”
“Ye are too great for me to beat, faither,” Tadhg nodded his head, letting his long dark auburn hair tilt across his face with the movement. His customary charm made their father laugh with warmth.
Gavin had to stop himself from scoffing. Tadhg had a talent for charm, but it was hardly the moment for an argument. He approached the two of them as his countenance shifted to a harsh warning.
“The Norse are here.” His heavy words dropped into the room as though a flint rock had struck a pool of water. Gavin watched as their faces turned from easy humor to surprise.
“Are ye sure ye are nae seein’ things, brother?” Tadhg asked with a smirk, “Ye have an active imagination, after all.”
“Ye mistake me for our sister.” Gavin put his hand under Tadhg’s arm and urged him to his feet. “I wouldnae lie about such a thing. The men are gatherin’ now. We shall meet the Norse as they land. It isnae what they will expect.”
“Release me, brother.” Tadhg’s charm had vanished, and his voice turned darker – a tone normally used for his enemies. He released his arm nevertheless, with a wary eyebrow raised.
Tadhg was older than Gavin, but smaller, and Gavin had never been afraid of his elder. Tadhg was a half-brother the produce of the youthful Laird’s one-night spent with a lowly maid. Although the eldest, Tadhg was illegitimate and therefore not heir to the lairdship. He was still welcome at court, particularly so since Gavin’s mother had died. In return, he was expected to take on the responsibilities of a Highland soldier.
“Ye are needed.” Gavin gestured to Tadhg’s clothes. “Dress and fetch yer weapons. Come now, we meet the others down at the docks.”
“Ye are certain, laddie?” His father called his attention away from his brother. Fergus’s grey hair was curling around his ear, and his beard grew longer and more matted each turning day. Gavin presumed his father allowed it to grow to disguise his growing wrinkles, but it did little use.
“I am, faither. I have sent Kenna to bring the women and children of the town here to the keep for the duration of the battle.”
“Aye, I will prepare for them.” Fergus stood slowly to his feet, clicking his back loudly as he moved, making both of his sons wince. The man, though a great warrior in his day, was aging.
“Do ye need help, faither?” Tadhg offered a hand, but the arm was quickly swiped away by Fergus with an almighty slap of his hand. “I am nae yet an invalid. Ye two, be gone. Get to yer stations and be prepared for battle. Aye?”
His father’s spirit brought a smirk to Gavin’s face.
“Aye, faither,” he nodded and turned on his heel, heading quickly back to the door. “Tadhg?” he called again when he noticed his brother did not follow.
“Aye, I am comin’.” Tadhg walked slowly to catch up with him, making Gavin shift as his fingers clenched into fists. He had no liking for Tadhg’s reluctance for battle. Being a soldier was a matter of honor; it was his duty to protect the clan and the people of Banff.
“Laddie?” Fergus called, urging Gavin to hesitate in the doorway. It was a term he only ever used for Gavin. “For the Clan. For the Laird. And for the Men. Aye?”
“Aye!” Gavin called back and thudded his chest in salute, earning a nod from his father. As he turned to leave, he thought he saw Tadhg roll his eyes, but he couldn’t be certain. “Come, Tadhg, we must prepare.”
He dragged his elder brother back to the tent that stood for their armoury. There were rows of pikes, halberds, spears, longbows, ettric bows, swords, and two-handed swords. Gavin walked past them all, leaving his half-brother to ponder the weapons.
He aimed straight for the armour and hurried to dress, opting for a thin chain mail to cover his torso over his trews. For a helmet, he chose a great helm – bucket-shaped to cover his face. It was dappled with breathing holes and held two rectangular slits to allow the soldier to see. It restricted his movement, but it was necessary to be protected.
As Tadhg chose the heavier of the weapons, bound to inhibit his agility, Gavin lifted a circular shield and a sword.
“Tadhg, ye must hurry.” He pushed his brother in the shoulder, urging him on. “They will be here soon.”
“Aye, I ken.” Tadhg grabbed a shield of his own. “I will follow ye down.”
“Head to the docks when ye are ready.”
“That is yer plan?” Tadhg asked with raised eyebrows, “The Norse’s ships are superior to ours. Ye’ll be dead before ye set sail.”
“Ye misunderstand me plan,” Gavin laughed beneath his helmet, reveling in his scheme, “I daenae intend to set sail. I just daenae intend to let them reach the town either.”
Gavin nodded one last time to his brother and hurried from the tent, directing his feet towards the town.
Find
lay and the soldiers were already taking their positions when Gavin reached the dock. One by one, each man took their place until only Gavin and Findlay were left atop the dock and visible.
“This could work,” Findlay let out a single laugh as he turned his head from side to side. The metal helmet clanged with the movement. “They cannae be seen.”
“Aye, it is our best chance,” Gavin nodded as he walked along the wooden dock, his boots thudding against the wood, “Are the trebuchets ready?”
“Aye.”
“Then we wait for the signal.” Gavin turned back and walked down the dock with Findlay following close behind him.
The beach was cradled in a cove and bordered by two cliffs. On one ridge stood the castle, and between the cliffs was Banff town itself. Hidden from view on the docks by one of the town's timber buildings were three trebuchets, all lined up and prepared to aim at the sea.
“If they reach the town, we stand little chance. They are superior in such terrain,” Gavin repeated the words he had said so many times before in their preparation for the battle.
“I ken, Gavin,” Findlay nodded, but Gavin pushed on.
“We must stop them here. The ambush will give us the advantage. It is the only way.”
“I ken.”
“Under no circumstances can they reach the castle.”
“Gavin! I ken.” Findlay took hold of his armoured shoulder and give the smallest of shakes. “Be calm, me friend. Ye have prepared well for this. We ken the plan, and it is a good one. Now, we must trust in it.”
“Aye.” Gavin breathed deeply, trying to calm the thrill that was running through his body. It was a hum of anticipation, a desperation to be in the battle already, fighting for his clan. It was what he was born to do. There was honor in it.
He would not let the Norse jeopardize his people.
An arrow landed at Gavin’s and Findlay’s feet with a loud thud in the wooden slats, turning their sharp gaze to the top of the cliff. One of their soldiers stood there, waving madly. It was the signal they had been waiting for.
Both men unsheathed their swords and offered a last nod to each other.
Gavin waited until Findlay turned away and hurried behind a town-building nearest to the beach. He was aiming for the trebuchets, prepared to order them into action.
As he disappeared, Gavin jumped from the dock into the shallows of the sea. It was low tide, meaning the exposed beach was a mixture of stones, rock pools, and yellow shingle. He waded through the shallows and bent under the docks.
Hidden beneath the wooden structure were lines of his soldiers, each one with their helmets bent, and their swords pulled ready for action. They were all perfectly hidden from the view of the attacking Norse.
Gavin smiled and took his place among them, standing proudly with his sword bared. He squinted through the gaps in the helmet, peering between the top of the shallow green sea and the bottom edge of the wooden dock.
Just as the arrow had warned, a Viking ship appeared around the cliffside, heading for Banff.
Gavin watched them approach, holding his body still with anticipation.
Sail into me trap.
Chapter Four
Idunn’s gaze moved away from Einarr to the cove before them. Nestled between two cliffs was a small town. Towering above the hamlet was a fortified castle with a grey-stone keep that stretched so high into the sky that Idunn thought it nearly touched the grey clouds above. Around it, a meandering wall extended half-way down the cliff.
The whole view was green, dappled with purple and red heather. Types of plants could not be distinguished at this distance, but Idunn knew from experience that it was the heather that gave the landscape those colors. The beach in front of the town was stippled with yellow shingle and rock pools. Beneath the cliffs were sharp jutting rocks and stacks that the Norse ships had to navigate carefully through.
“Já, it is beautiful,” she murmured to herself, unaware she had a listener.
“Idunn? What did you say?” Einarr moved closer to her side as he checked his leather belt for his weapons and lifted his traditional battle axe. Atop his head was the rounded helmet with the nose guard that bore down the center of his face.
“It is beautiful. Do you not think so?” She gestured to the landscape with a smile. It was why she loved their raids to this land.
“I have never thought of it as such.” Einarr shrugged as he turned his attention away. “It is rich in resources, that is certainly true.”
She ignored him, determined to enjoy the raid and not let her betrothed dampen the experience. Leaning across the bow of the boat, she watched the town as a flicker of movement caught her gaze by the dock. She thought she imagined it, but on a repeat of the movement, she persuaded herself it was a fish, merely leaping out of the ocean depths.
As their longboat moved closer towards the docks, a sudden whip echoed through the air.
“What was that?” Einarr bellowed, instantly alert.
“Above!”
“Look out!”
At the cries of panic, Idunn looked to and fro. A great boulder smashed into the water beside them, creating an enormous splash covering half their boat. As she blinked away the water, wiping her eyes, she found Einarr standing in the middle of the ship and pointing at the town.
“Trebuchets! Stay down.”
Idunn snatched her helmet from a nearby bench and placed it over her hair. Bordered with the motifs of Norse runes, it too had a nose guard that created a line down the center of her face.
The cries of other ships erupted as more whips echoed through the air. Idunn peered over the edge of the boat towards the town.
Across the dock, Highland soldiers were climbing out of their hiding place from the dock, taking stance across the beach to protect their town. Boulders whipped through the air, aiming towards their ships. More great splashes reverberated through the cove as an onslaught began.
Another whip sounded above, and this time, the trebuchet's payload found its target.
Idunn looked up at the cries of fear to see a boulder heading straight for their ship. She dived to the side, falling against the flat of the wood as it crashed – the boat almost fractured in two, the wood splintering as the warriors hurried to their feet and the green water rushed into their safe haven.
Within seconds, the ship tipped, urging Idunn into action. She scrambled towards the bow, aware others in the boat were wild with panic.
She realized almost too late what was happening; the ship was about to capsize. She sheathed her sword and climbed up onto the bow of the boat, balancing on the wood with the arches of her feet. As the ship tipped sideways beneath her, she launched herself into the air and dived into the green depths, sinking her body into its cold arms.
For a moment, her eyes were consumed by the misty green as her hands pulled at the waves. She felt peace. It enveloped her, and the waves caressed her like a lover’s arms. In the deep green pit, it was almost easy to forget what was happening above the surface. Her peaceful reverie was quickly broken, and she was torn back to a harsh reality.
Behind her, she felt the tug of the water, signaling the ship was rotating. She turned around and pushed backward, just in time to see the boat overturn and its occupants scramble to freedom in the sea. Shoving her feet against the seabed floor, she pushed with all her might to swim back to the light.
As she broke the surface, sputtering the salty water from her mouth, she kicked madly with her feet to stay afloat. The water bobbed against her neck, and the taste of salt lingered. There were other warriors nearby, other empty helmets floating past her with no warriors to wear them. She swallowed at the thought of how many men would be lost in the sunken ship. Kicking away from a nearby floating helmet, her eyes took in the scene around her.
They had been ambushed. Before her people could even put a foot on Scottish soil, the Highlanders had attacked.
Einarr’s ship was not the only one that had capsized. Another had turned only a sho
rt distance from her, and a third hovered half in and half out of the water. The warriors were scrambling to the edge of the boat that still stood proud beyond the sea. Some were choosing the ocean's unknown depths before the sinking ship could swallow them into the murky water below. Many dived into the waves, struggling with wayward arms to swim.
Most Norse warriors were strong swimmers. They trained in the fjords in the depth of winter, fighting ice and the deathly cold ice. Idunn had trained in such waters herself, her mother watching from the sidelines. She and Signý had trained together, tussling in the waters to see who would win. Idunn ached for her friend to be at her side, to be facing the depths of the Scottish waters together.
